


Breathing in Binary

by ZephyrElf



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Body Dysphoria, Brain Surgery, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Cybernetics, Cyborg!Junkrat, Cyborgs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gift Fic, Heavy Angst, Intersex Zenyatta, Lung Cancer, M/M, Omnic Racism, Other, Robot/Human Relationships, Slow Burn, Surgery, Temporary Character Death, Virtual Reality, junkyatta, zenrat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 08:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14077386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrElf/pseuds/ZephyrElf
Summary: He already knew his days were numbered. He was ready to die. He was just waiting for it to happen.So... What is he supposed to do when it doesn't happen? And how is he supposed to enjoy being alive when he's even less human than before?





	Breathing in Binary

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so bear with me here, I wanted to establish some things before jumping straight into the action this time. As a result, the beginning may seem a little slow, but I promise it will pick up. 
> 
> Without further ado, I present: the establishing of things.

Following their failed attempt at re-entering Junkertown, Junkrat and Roadhog had to go back on the run; staying in the Outback was not an option. Without the aid of hubs like Junkertown, nobody except the truly insane few could survive the unforgiving conditions of the Outback for very long. Their reputations of both being troublemakers and of possessing invaluable treasure had traveled far and wide through the wasteland, and as a result they would be, and have been, met with opposition in nearly every corner of the Outback.

 

So they went back on the run around the world. The only problem? The two of them were now recognized worldwide for their infamous crime spree. The police were catching on to them more quickly, and the bounty hunters were growing more bold.

 

They were running out of places to go.

 

They were running out of time.

 

The two of them never imagined they'd live very long as a result of the fallout in the Outback. Roadhog had been closer to the initial blast of the Omnium than most of the residents of the Outback, and while he's been self medicating since that time to combat the effects of the severe radiation to which he was exposed, his lungs have never fully recovered. Granted, he isn't getting any worse, but that doesn't stop him from growing older.

 

Junkrat is still young, but Roadhog has speculated that his charge may be in worse condition than himself, if the bald patches and lack of body and facial hair are anything to go by. Too much radiation tends to make a person’s hair fall out.

 

To this day, the Omnium that Roadhog helped ruin still leaks radiation, and nobody goes within 3 clicks of the place unless they have a death wish or are truly desperate. Junkrat eventually fell into the latter category, and ventured into the Omnium to scavenge. Sure, he had found a supposedly priceless treasure, but the trip was probably terrible for his charge.

 

The trip had done more damage to Junkrat than he could have imagined at the time. Junkrat only began realizing the full extent of the damage when it started becoming painful to breathe. He had already had an abstract, grim understanding that, like most Junkers, he probably wasn't going to live long. Now, however, that concept was far more concrete than he preferred. He didn't like to think about it. So, despite his tendency to never shut up, he had avoided talking with Roadhog about his health and his trip to the Omnium.

 

They would make the most they could out of whatever time they had left. Junkrat was resolute in not spending his last moments drawn out in a hospital, or in a prison, for that matter. He had even gone so far as to tell Roadhog that, should it come down to it, he'd rather die than end up in either of those Hells. It was ride or die for Junkrat.

 

Roadhog would follow his boss to the ends of the Earth to achieve this, but he silently dreaded Junkrat’s recklessness. It was his job to protect the scrawny man, and what kind of bodyguard would he be if he lost his charge? What kind of _parent_ would ever want to outlive their _child_? It happened to him once before, and despite thinking that Mako had died after all these years, something about traveling with Jamie had pulled Mako back out of the grave. Mako was growing attached. He wanted to protect Jamie as if he were his own son. Roadhog would never admit to it, and when his actions betrayed his overprotectiveness, he'd simply say it was his job. Nothing more. For all Mako’s protectiveness, though, Roadhog respected the chaotic wishes of his companion; they didn't settle down somewhere safe and peaceful like Mako wanted. Rather, they continued their senseless rampage across the globe in order to enjoy every last moment the two of them had left.

 

Today, it looked like their time in the sun might be coming to an end.

 

* * *

 

Deep orange light from the sunset poured in through the windows of Winston’s office. The gorilla lounged at his desk, enjoying some peanut butter as a dessert while keeping watch on various news channels. Nothing noteworthy this evening.

 

That is, until there's a breaking news report in Spain. Junkrat and Roadhog have been sighted. The location splayed on the screen is not even an hour away from Gibraltar.

 

“This is probably the best shot at those two we’re ever going to get.” Something caught his eye as news continued to play. “Athena, rewind this feed.”

 

“As you wish.” She did and the clip played again.

 

“There.” He paused the clip and zoomed in on the frame. “Athena, can you clarify this image?”

 

The clarified image popped up moments later. Sure enough, hiding in an alley behind where Junkrat and Roadhog are pictured walking is a Talon agent.

 

“Athena, gather the team. Now.”

 

* * *

 

It’s eerily quiet in the Spanish office building. Pale moonlight filters in through the glass walls.

 

“Oi mate, d’ya think they're gone?” Junkrat whispers as quietly as he can, which isn't very quiet at all.

 

The man in the pig mask looks at him from the cubicle across the aisle and merely shakes his head. He then holds up a single massive finger to the snout of his mask. _Quiet._

 

The red dot of a laser sight shines up through the window of the second story room they’re hiding in, onto the ceiling. Junkrat swallows hard and grips his launcher a little tighter, pressing himself further into the office cubicle in which he is hiding. The heist had started out like any other, but then they were ambushed by a bunch of people wearing black clothing and masks with glowing red eyes, led by a man in a long black coat and a strange skull mask. _Who the fuck were those blokes? Sure as hell ain’t coppers._ They had demanded that he stand down and reveal the location of his treasure. Damn it, he thought _that_ news had only spread through Australia, not around the fucking world!

 

They had gotten away from the armed men in black, and had somehow ended up hidden here, in the empty office space in the dead of night. It felt like they had been running and hiding from them for _hours_. Their three previous hiding places had all been discovered, and at almost every turn, there had been more and more of the bloody bastards.

 

There’s a low rumble in the distance, like the sound of jet engines. _Are those cunts calling in even more reinforcements?_

 

Gunfire breaks out, and it sends a spike of panic through Junkrat until he realizes that none of the full length windows of the office space are being shattered. The fighting is all happening out on the streets.

 

“Roadie, think we can make a break for it? Seems like they're busy down there.”

 

The larger man is motionless save for the rise and fall of his chest, quiet in contemplation before he offers a nod. They get up in a rush and make a break for the stairs, and at the bottom, Junkrat blows a hole in the wall for a fast exit onto the street. He and Roadhog make quick work of the assailants they come across. Their destination is a few blocks away, where they had ditched the chopper earlier in an alley and covered it with cardboard from the dumpster to conceal it.

 

A man in black barks out. “There they are! You four, keep your focus on the Overwatch agents, the rest of you, capture the objective!”

 

 _Overwatch? The fuck?_ The news had reached Junkertown’s shitty radios about six years ago that Overwatch had been disbanded. _Why are these dipshits talking about bloody Overwatch?_

 

He and Roadhog turn their attention to the new incoming group of not-police, Junkrat tossing and detonating a concussion mine in the middle of the group, and Roadhog hooking the man giving orders before blowing out his brains. “Y’gotta try harder’n that, ya cunts!” A mad laugh escapes him as they dart off into an alley. While they run to the other end, he lays down a few traps and concussion mines. The agents’ screams are music to his ears as the metal teeth of his traps snap shut on their legs, and an uncontrollable, manic smile breaks out on his face as he presses the detonator for the mines. He makes a brief glance backward to admire the flames and the crumbling of the buildings on either side. Another crazed laugh erupts from him. “See ya in hell, dipsticks!”

 

As they come out onto the street, though, there are agents waiting for them. Roadhog wastes no time in whipping out the hopper and crank for his scrap gun and mowing operatives down while the two of them sprint across the road toward the next alley, where the bike is hidden.

 

“We made it, mate! Now let's get the fuck outta--” Junkrat is cut off by an explosion of purple gas and before he can even register what’s happened, he’s on the ground, unable to move. His lungs feel like they’re on fire as he breathes the terrible gas and starts coughing up a storm. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes from the pain. From his place on the pavement, he can see Roadhog, largely unaffected by the gas due to his mask, rushing over to pick him up. Beyond Roadhog, Junkrat makes out many glowing red eyes piercing through the veil of the haze in the entrance to the alley. Junkrat wants to warn Roadhog to run, but he can’t do anything but continue coughing and wheezing violently. Guns fire, but what hits Roadhog in the back aren’t bullets, but rather, oversized tasers. Electricity crackles over and through Roadhog, wrenching a terrible roar from the giant man. More of the tasers appear in Roadhog’s back, until he’s overwhelmed and he too collapses. _Fuck, this is the end, innit?_ _Me n’ Roadie are gonna die in an alley in Spain. God, me lungs hurt. I can’t breathe._

 

 _“It’s hiiigh noon,”_ a voice drawls from somewhere. Is he imagining things, or was there an eagle screech just now? Four shots ring out in rapid succession, and suddenly the agents who were standing in the entrance of the alleyway aren’t standing anymore. _What the hell?_ The cloud of purple had dissipated, but his lungs still felt like they were on fire. He wants to thank the man who just saved his hide, but he can’t let his guard down. If anything, this new guy is even more dangerous than the other guys, and Junkrat has no idea what his motives are.

 

The soft clinking of metal accompanies the sound of approaching footsteps, and Junkrat pushes himself up stiffly on his elbows and knees, still coughing violently to get the last of the gas out of his ragged lungs. His limbs feel heavy. The footsteps come to a halt next to Roadhog’s motionless form, and Junkrat strains to look up. Before him stands a cowboy draped in red, the barrel of his pistol still steaming. A curl of smoke trails from a cigar, which he plucks from his mouth as he speaks in a honeyed, southern drawl. “I heard there’s a nice reward for bringin’ you fellas in.”

 

 _Fuck! A bounty hunter?_ That meant he was either going to die soon, or be turned over to the authorities. He was in no position to fight back right now, and frankly, he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the cowboy’s gun; with the purple haze gone, he could see that each of the corpses at the end of the alley was shot dead center in the forehead. His voice is hoarse and it cracks as he replies. “Mabye we could, erm, work something out, mate?” A nervous giggle bubbles its way out of his ruined airways, and he winces.

 

“Maybe we could.” He reaches up to his ear with a metal hand. “Winston, I’ve rendezvoused with Junkrat and Roadhog … … Alright, you got it, big guy.” He drops his hand and looks back down at Junkrat. Roadhog twitches a little on the ground, and lets out a pained groan. “It’s your lucky day, folks. My boss’s got an offer for the both of you.”

 

Junkrat raises a suspicious eyebrow at the man. “Yeah? Let’s hear it, mate.”

 

“The big guy wants y’all off the streets. Originally he was planning on just sendin’ your sorry asses to prison, but it seems he’s had a change of heart after seeing the two of you stickin’ it to Talon. He’s decided to offer the both of you a place in Overwatch.”

 

There’s that word again. Overwatch. “Don’t… _*cough*_ don't you come the raw prawn with me. What makes ya think we’d join a dead organization?” The sound of gunshots in the street is growing louder again.

 

“Contrary to what you folks might believe, Overwatch ain’t dead.” Heavy, clanking footsteps grow louder and louder, practically shaking the ground, and soon a giant in a metal suit is tromping past the alley with blue energy shield up. Junkrat’s eyes go wide at the sight. He recognizes the mountain of a man from the comics he would read as an ankle biter. He even collected their action figures! Of course, those were long gone by now. The Crusader was one of the heroes from Overwatch’s golden age, and here he is, in the flesh. Maybe he's hallucinating from that gas. The cowboy turns to face the knight. “Glad to see you, Reinhardt!”

 

Reinhardt is enthusiastic in his reply. “Good to see you too, mein friend! I heard you were in need of backup. I will be your shield!” _Nope, not hallucinating_. There's no way his mind would be able to imagine an accent like that.

 

“‘Preciate it, Rein.” The cowboy turns back to Junkrat, taking in his awed expression. “Case in point,” he says and chuckles amusedly.

 

Junkrat couldn’t believe his eyes. Overwatch is really bloody back from the dead. And they’re fuckin’ offering him and Roadie a job! It’s almost _too_ good to be true. “Well fuck me dead! Okay, but, uh, what’s in it for us if we accept?”

 

“For starters, you get a place to stay, with plenty of food and drink. You’ll be hired on as mercenaries, so you’ll get paid, too, but t’be honest it’s not much right now since we’re not exactly operating on the most legal basis yet. Still, it’s a helluva lot better’n nothing. Definitely hard to complain when yer living expenses are paid.”

 

“Roight… That’s great and all, mate, but we’re still bloody criminals. And if you’re short on money like it sounds like ya are, we’d be an easy 25 mil. How can we be sure ya wouldn't throw us to the wolves for the cash?”

 

Roadhog’s voice comes out as a wheeze, but the warning tone in his voice is evident when he says, “Rat.”

 

“Oi, I'm the boss, here, mate!” He snaps a little indignantly at Roadhog. “Don'tcha remember what happened the last time we tried going legit? We got bloody double-crossed!”

 

The cowboy crouches down to Junkrat’s level, where the scrawny man still can't manage to get himself off of his hands and knees. “While it ain't normally polite to look a gift horse in the mouth, I understand your concern.” He taps some ashes off the end of his cigar, and then points it at Junkrat. “Now see, I was just like you, once upon a time. Had a bounty over my head and a list of crimes on my record.” He keeps the cigar between his metal fingers while he makes hand gestures. “Overwatch gave me a choice: join up, or go to prison. ‘Course, I joined. It was rough as hell at first, fitting in and all, but do you know what they never did? They never stabbed me in the back. Eventually they even started treating me like family; like I belong.” He studies the cigar as he continues. “Heck, after a while they even scrubbed my criminal record clean as a babe’s bottom. No more bounty.” The cigar finds its way back into the corner of his mouth, and he pushes himself up from his crouch. “Winston can do the same for the two of you if you decide to take us up on our offer. It's this or prison, folks.”

 

Despite his earlier distrust, probing, and questioning, his mind had been made up the moment he'd seen the giant Crusader. The presence of the knight proves that Overwatch is alive, and if Overwatch is alive, and they’re offering pay, housing, food, and clean slates, then he’d have to be a fuckin’ drongo to choose prison. Plus, the cowboy hadn’t mentioned a damn thing about his treasure. He was relieved about that; perhaps word of his find hadn’t traveled as far as he thought. He glances over at Roadhog, who nods his own approval from his place on the ground. Junkrat finally manages to push himself up into a standing position, and he sways a little as a wave of dizziness passes over him. He recovers quickly and holds out his right hand to the cowboy. “You got yourself a deal, mate.”

 

The cowboy spins his pistol and holsters it, freeing up his right hand to shake. “Welcome to the team. Name’s McCree.” The handshake ends, and Roadhog is finally managing to push himself up off the concrete. “Now, we best get a move on. You folks ready?”

 

“Give us just a tick, mate, and we’ll be more than ready.” A broad grin spreads across his face. Roadhog rips out the taser electrodes from his back and crushes a can of hogdrogen against the filters of his mask, breathing deeply. The two of them then collect their dropped weapons, and make their way to the mass of cardboard deeper in the alley, uncovering the Hog.

 

Roadhog runs a loving hand over the bike, and turns to McCree. “She gonna fit on your ship?”

 

Well, McCree certainly hadn’t been expecting that. “Well, uh, it’s worth a shot. If it don’t fit, it ain’t too far of a drive to Gibraltar, I don’t think.”

 

“Ah cheers, mate!” Junkrat says as he hops into the side car. Roadhog mounts the bike, and that makes McCree wonder about another thing.

 

“You got room on there for one more? I’ve gotta give you directions on where to go, after all.”

 

“Oh roight!” Junkrat facepalms with his flesh hand, then hops out of the sidecar. “Well get in, mate!”

 

“Where are you gonna sit, then, Junkrat?” He asks as he gets into the sidecar. There are bomb casings, fast food wrappers, and a handful of gold coins scattered about the bottom of the car. The seat is grimy and reeks of gasoline. He silently prays that the stains he's probably going to get on his precious serape will come out in the wash.

 

Junkrat climbs on top of the rear wheel shield, and establishes a firm grip on Roadhog’s harness with his flesh hand, still holding the grenade launcher in his right. “This’ll work right fine. ‘S’what we did sometimes before we attached the sidecar!”

 

Roadhog starts the engine, and it comes to life with a roar. McCree puts his hand up to the comm in his ear and has to yell over the rumbling of the hog. “Rein? … We’re headed back to the drop ship! Can you clear a path for us? … We’re gonna be goin’ real fast, so why don't you use your rocket boosters? … We’ll wait for your signal.”

 

Roadhog and Junkrat overhear this. Roadhog waits for this supposed signal, and Junkrat speaks up. “Once we get moving, mate, you're gonna want to hold on! Roadie here is one hell of a driver!” He erupts in laughter.

 

“Shut up, Rat!” Roadhog growls over the din.

 

“I'm sure I can handle this, folks! Can't be any more difficult than train hopping at 640 kilometers per hour!”

 

“Shit, mate, that sounds like fun!”

 

“You bet your ass it was!”

 

Roadhog growled to himself, and McCree continued talking. “Alright, Roadhog, on my mark, hit it! We’ll be taking a right turn onto the street!” Roadhog nods in response. For a moment there's nothing but the rumble of the chopper, but then the low roar of a different engine picks up, growing louder and louder, until--“NOW!”

 

Roadhog revs the engine, and just a moment after it jerks forward down the alley, the knight zooms past on the street. They drift onto the street, Junkrat cackling madly as he sends grenades into groups of Talon agents on the left, McCree skillfully picking off targets on the right, and Roadhog following the rocket-propelled Reinhardt. They reach the ship in record time.

 

They slow down as they approach. The ship is bigger than Junkrat thought it would be. “Oi Hoggie! Betcha the chopper will fit on the ship!” to which Roadhog merely grunts in reply. He brings the bike to a stop and powers off the engine. “Aw c’mon mate, why are we stopping now? Shouldn’t we be _inside_ the ship?”

 

“We should wait for permission.” He rumbles out as he gets off his bike.

 

“Smart man,” McCree says. Once again, he puts a hand up to the comm in his ear. “Everyone, I’ve arrived back at the dropship with Junkrat and Roadhog. Rendezvous back here as soon as possible so we can get the hell outta dodge.”

 

Reinhardt shields the three of them while they wait. Soon a pink mech rounds the corner to the dropship. Junkrat has seen and worked on plenty of mechs in his time, but he's impressed by this one so far, what with being able to fly, and those guns also look like they could do a lot of damage. A flash of blue and orange quickly follows, and the two of them group up behind Reinhardt’s shield. There aren't too many people firing in their direction right now, but it's enough that Junkrat is grateful for the energy shield.

 

The girl in the pink mech looks ecstatic. “That was quick work, Jesse! They joining the team?”

 

“Sure are, D.Va.” McCree replies with a knowing grin.

 

“Yes!” D.Va cheers, and turns to the girl wearing orange leggings and the glowing thingo on her chest. “I win!”

 

“Fine,” She spits venomously and, sporting a sour look on her face, digs out her wallet and forks over some cash.

 

“Strewth! Ya were betting t’see if we’d join or not?”

 

“Yupp! I knew I'd win. Who wants to go to jail, anyway?” She turns back to the other girl. “GG!”

 

The other girl’s British accent is thick, and her tone of voice would put the salt content of the ocean to shame. “I don’t see why you’re so happy about working alongside _thieving terrorists!_ Have you forgotten that they stole the Crown Jewels and tore up King’s Row?”

 

“Oh yeah, we did do that! That was a fun time, right Roa--” Junkrat is cut off by Roadhog cuffing him over the head.

 

“Fuckwit.” _Don't mess this up,_ Roadhog thinks, but doesn't say. Junkrat seems to get it, and scrambles to fix his mistake.

 

“I-I mean, we _did_ give the Crown Jewels back eventually!” He trails off into a mumble, “by selling it to a third party, who then sold it back to England…”

 

The British girl’s expression remains sour.

 

This time McCree speaks up. “Oh come on Lena! You don't gotta be so mean to our new teammates! Remember, not everyone who’s joined in the past was a model citizen. Take me or Genji, for example. We turned out alright.”

 

Her scowl softens somewhat, and then an armored gorilla and an angel round the corner and makes their way toward the dropship. Like Reinhardt, he recognized the angel. What was her name? Hope? Victory? The ape was vaguely familiar. Junkrat probably would have been more surprised by the presence of a sentient gorilla if he hadn't already encountered so many other surprises today. What's next, bloody Omnics? Better not be fuckin’ Omnics...

 

Lena blinks over to the gorilla in a streak of blue, and speaks in a whisper that's far too loud to actually be a whisper. “Winston! Why are you letting those two join the team?!”

 

“Lena, I know it might be hard for you to accept this, but I now believe it is for the best. Yes, they're dangerous, but an enemy of our enemy has the potential of being our ally. With their skills, they could make a rather valuable addition to our team. If they don't cooperate, though,” the gorilla eyes Junkrat and Roadhog, “I may yet change my mind.”

 

Junkrat swallows hard at the thinly veiled threat. This might not be as much of a cakewalk as he thought it would be, and a nervous laugh leaves him, unbidden. _This ape is the big boss?_ Winston could probably tear him a new asshole if he isn't careful. He finds himself standing up just a little straighter than usual, a small feat considering the heavy rip-tire on his back. “I'll be on me best behavior!”

 

The serious expression from Winston melts into a smile. “Good. Now, everyone on board! We’re getting out of here.” He eyes the yellow motorcycle and sidecar. “D.Va, if you would please show these two where to park their vehicle?”

 

“I'm on it! Follow me!” She starts walking her mech up toward the ramp of the dropship door while Roadhog re-mounts his bike and brings the engine roaring back to life. It purrs as he drives it slowly to follow the bright pink mech, and Junkrat follows along on foot. Reinhardt brings up the rear, and then the door raises until it seals shut. The ship rumbles as the thrusters engage, and that pommy voice rings out through the ship. “Alright loves, buckle up, because we’re about to take off!”

 

Roadhog and D.Va finish securing their rides to the reinforced pads on the floor and all of them take their seats. Junkrat ends up sitting in between Roadhog and the tiny mech pilot. He's curious to know more about D.Va and her mech, so he tries striking up a conversation.

 

“Oi, that's a real nice mech ya got.”

 

“Thanks! MEKA was made by my country’s government to fight against the titan Omnic, so it's top of the line!” She says with pride.

 

It puts a smile on his face. “I guess there really are some suits who got their heads on straight. They know what to do with Omnics, at least.” The ship lurches as it starts into the air, and Junkrat grips the safety bars a little tighter. He's never flown in a plane before; he and Roadhog had always stowed away on large freight ships in the past. He does his best to keep his voice steady as he continues. “Hehe… I've worked on some real impressive mechs in my time, even piloted a mech of me own, but I’ve never seen one as advanced as yours. Ya mind if I have a look at it sometime?”

 

“Only if you don't mess her up! She deserves to be treated like a queen.” She’s defensive, but he's secretly thrilled that he's been given permission. She becomes a little more shy as she continues. “And...”

 

He notices her hesitation; she has something more to say. “Well, come on then. I ain't gonna bite.”

 

The dropship had leveled off and was now flying smoothly. That fast girl’s voice rings out overhead again. “We’ve reached our cruising altitude, loves. You're free to get up and walk around now, if you like.” Some people remain seated, while others get up. The angel seems to be checking up on the team members one by one, and he also notices someone else he hadn't seen before: a brown skinned woman in a blue dress, sitting primly and manipulating blue light in her hands. His thoughts are snapped back to D.Va when she speaks again.

 

“Well, I'm not exactly the best mechanic. I know a thing or two about repairing MEKA, but back home most of the repairs were handled by other mechanics.” She whispers the next part to him under her breath. “Torby does an okay job, but he’s always too rough and his repairs are ugly. Don't tell him I said that. And Symm?” She motions over to the lady in the blue dress from before. “She's pretty good, but her expertise isn't with mechs, and she's almost always busy with her own projects. You mentioned you've worked on mechs before, yeah?”

 

“Sheila, are ya asking me to be your mechanic?” His eyes sparkled with a barely contained excitement that Hana found hard to turn down. She couldn't help giggling at the absurdity of talking with a supposedly insane terrorist in such a capacity. He really isn't such a bad guy. But, what's up with him calling her ‘sheila’?

 

“My name is Hana, and yes, for just the first repair. If I like your work, I'll keep coming back!” She flashes a peace sign and a bright smile, and Junkrat feels warm inside. It feels awful nice to have another friend in this new, precarious situation he and Roadie have ended up in.

 

“Aces, mate! I promise I won't let ya down. Er, what'd ya say your name was again?”

 

She sticks out her hand enthusiastically. “Hana Song! Also known as the gaming superstar, ‘D.Va’!”

 

He shakes her offered hand with enthusiasm to match what she was bringing to the table. “Junkrat! Explosives expert and pro mechanic! Nice t’make your acquaintance.”

 

“Ditto!”

 

At some point, the angel had made her way over to them. “Hana, how are you feeling? Are you injured in any way?” She began looking Hana over, searching for injuries. _Shit, the angel’s a doctor?_ Fear began taking root in Junkrat again. _No, no, she can't know, or else I'm gonna be stuck in a hospital instead of doing whatever it is I'm gonna be doing…_ he shuddered at the memory of the makeshift “hospital” in Junkertown.

 

“I'm A-okay, Angie! No issues here.”

 

 _Angie_ smiles and turns her attentions next to the two Junkers. “And how about you two? Did you sustain any injuries in ze fight?”

 

“Nope! Nope, I'm all good!” In all honesty, his lungs still feel a residual burn from the toxic gas earlier, but he doesn't want her going anywhere near his already dying lungs. No hospital stays for Junkrat. _I'll live me short life to the fullest, ta_.

 

Roadhog simply shakes his head no. While the tazers had injured him, the hogdrogen had sealed up the wounds.

 

“I am glad you are both well. Ah, where are my manners! My name is Dr. Angela Ziegler, though you may also know me as Mercy.” _Right, that's what her name was._ “Since you both are new, I will need to have each of you come in at some point to meet me for a general checkup. It is important for all of our members to be functioning at their best, and I will do everything in my power to achieve that. You two are no exception.”

 

“Roight, roight, yeah, we can meet with ya,” he lied. _Fuck, I'm not off the hook yet… well, she only said soon, not a specific date, so I could put off meetin’ with her. Yeah, I'll do that._ _Anythin’ to prolong the inevitable._

 

Junkrat’s habitual fidgeting had slowly been growing worse. Roadhog could see the gears turning in Junkrat’s mind, and it’s clear to him that Junkrat is troubled by the doctor. Junkrat had always been afraid of doctors. He himself had no qualms about them, but didn't care for the conditions of the Junkertown clinic. _Those_ people were uncertified butchers. He trusted that _this_ doctor was more competent than the ones out there. He nodded his agreement to Dr. Ziegler.

 

“Splendid! I expect to see both of you in my office within ze next week. Doctor’s orders.” With that, she turns and makes her way up to the cockpit, presumably to check up on zippy girl and the gorilla.

 

_One week?! I’m doomed. Fucking damned to Hell! I’m not even gonna get any action, it’ll be one checkup and then I’ll be stuck I’ll be fucking stuck and it’ll be worse than prison and oh shit I’m-ohfu--_

 

“So what are the mechs like back in Australia?” Hana speaks up with genuine curiosity. She recoils a little bit when he meets her gaze with a frighteningly manic look in his eyes, but it’s there for only a moment before confusion takes its place.

 

“Huh?”

 

She tries again. “...You know, what'd the mechs look like, what could they do, what were they used for, etcetera?”

 

Junkrat seems to relax and perk up at the same time. “Well, most everything in Junkertown is made outta scrap metal, so the mechs don't really look too sleek. More fearsome-like, sometimes with spikes! They all have some kinda light on ‘em to see at night, since that's when they're used most. And eh, none of ‘em shoot bullets, ‘cause those’re rare as hell out past the black stump.”

 

“So, what kinds of weapons _do_ they use?” She’d never heard of a mech without a gun unless it was a loader or some other kind of utility mech.

 

“Well, Kelvin 506, which me mate Roadie over here used to pilot, had a flamethrower. It's a good’un since the mechs are open cockpit. Barbecue your opponent! Me own mech, Bludger, has a claw arm f’grabbing on tight, and a saw arm f’ripping and tearing. I also gave it a peg leg, so we matched! I used it to kick and mangle otha mech’s legs if I was in a pinch. Anotha mech, Wrecking Ball, had exactly what ya’d expect!”

 

“Wow, that's so cool! So what are the mechs used for?”

 

“Mostly the mechs are used in the arena. We fight each otha f’entatainment. Or f’justice. Yanno, settling disputes. Sometimes it don't end ‘til someone carks it, though that depends on why you’re in the ‘rena in the bloody first place. And if it's a cunting Omnic in the ring, yanno they’re slated t’be scrapped.” A wild grin had grown across his face as he mentioned the destruction of Omnics.

 

“That's so metal!” Hana exclaims.

 

Junkrat breaks out in howling laughter at Hana’s reaction. “That's a great way of putting it, darl! Hooo, ya got me good!” He wipes away a tear that had formed from laughing so hard.

 

His laughter dies down as Tracer’s British voice cuts through the ship. “Attention everyone, we’ll be starting our descent shortly. Please make sure you're in your seat with your safety belts and overhead bars secured!”

 

Junkrat doesn’t bother checking his safety restraints because he never took them off, but he does look over at Roadhog and he can’t help but laugh. He hadn’t realized how absurd the massive man looked in the comparatively small seat until now. Roadhog fixed Junkrat with a glare and growled, and Junkrat's laughter tapered off into uneasy silence for the rest of the flight.

 

Soon the plane lands, and everyone is getting out of their seats. He and Roadhog follow suit. Winston exits the cockpit, and addresses the group. “Alright everyone, tonight, I only ask that you clear your own cargo off the Orca. We’ll debrief and do formal introductions in the morning. Agent Roadhog, Agent Junkrat, after we find a place for your motorbike, I'll show you to your living quarters on base, and we’ll go over some basic ground rules on the way.”

 

“Ta, mate,” Junkrat says in response as everyone gears into motion unloading the Orca. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was, but he can feel it tugging at his eyelids and limbs now after the long night. Despite the weariness in his muscles, he and Hog get moving to drive the bike off to an area where Winston is standing in the hangar. Soon it’s parked, and the two junkers start following behind Winston.

 

“So, rule number one, no using weapons inside the base unless it's an emergency.”

 

“Roight,” Junkrat said as he nodded along sleepily. Roadhog gave a grunt in affirmation. Junkrat was glad Roadhog was with him; he knew he wouldn't be able to remember these things on his own. Without saying a word, he leaned into his bodyguard for support as they walked.

 

“Rule number two: with the exception of the training areas, any damages you cause to to the base will be taken out of your pay. Repeat offenses will result in a suspension period where you must keep your weapons locked in the armory while not on missions.”

 

Junkrat was too tired to protest, but even if he could, Winston would have beaten him to it with his next rule. Fortunately, Junkrat was in favor of what Winston said next.

 

“Rule number three: I'm willing to overlook rule number two if you can satisfactorily repair the damages yourself.

 

Rule number four: try to be on time for meetings, and make sure to pay attention. The details we discuss may just save your life out in the field.”

 

“Mhmm,” Junkrat mumbled, “sounds good.” He had never followed any clocks aside from the timers on his bombs before, but it couldn't be that hard, right?

 

They came to a stop in front of a door. “If you would, please press your hand on the pad here.”

 

Junkrat did as told with his right hand, but nothing happened. He looked to Winston in groggy confusion. “Izzit supposed t’do something?”

 

“Oh! My apologies! Why don't you try your other hand? It's a biometric handprint scanner. It's meant as a personalized lock system that only allows you in your room. Of course, you can let other people in if you permit it.”

 

He put his other hand down this time. A soothing female voice speaks. “Initializing, please wait… Welcome, Agent Junkrat.” The door slides open to reveal a small room with a compact bathroom immediately to the left, a closet immediately to the right, and then, further into the room, a bed against the left wall and a desk and some shelves up against the right wall. A small window sits on the back wall of the room. Under the window is a bedside table with an alarm clock. He takes a few steps in, amazed at the idea that this room is _his._ Only _he_ is allowed in here. No one can attack or steal from him in his sleep. He is safe here. “This iz great, mate. Cheers,” he says as he flops onto the bed.

 

“I'll send someone by to collect you in the morning for the debriefing. In the meantime, rest up. You've earned it. Now, Agent Roadhog, allow me to show you your quarters. You'll be right across the hall from Junkrat.” The door slid shut and the rest of their conversation was muted.

 

Junkrat had enough mind to set up a trap near the door, and to remove his prosthetics before crashing for the night.

 

* * *

 

Jesse found Winston after he had settled the Junkers in their new rooms. Something had been bothering him all evening. “Hey Winston, ya got a moment?”

 

Winston was feeling pretty ready for bed himself, but was amiable nonetheless at having had such an easy time settling two of the most chaotic men on the planet to bed. “Yes, Jesse? Is something on your mind?”

 

“It's about the mission. I know there's a debrief in the morning, but I just couldn' stop thinking ‘bout it.”

 

“Let's go sit down and talk, then. Is the rec room okay?”

 

“Sure thing, big guy.” They start on their way to the rec room, talking about nothing in particular until they arrive.

 

“So, what's bothering you?” Winston asks as he closes the rec room door.

 

“Talon. I mean, it was evident to everyone sooner or later that the Junkers were fighting against ‘em, but _why_ were they fighting each other? I think Talon wants something from those two. I uh… Well, when I found them, Talon had come awfully damn close to capturing them. They were using paralyzing gas and tasers meant for large animals er somethin’ like that. So Talon wanted them alive.”

 

“Do you have any idea of why?” Winston’s curiosity was piqued.

 

“With how hard those Aussies were fighting back, I doubt it was for recruitment. Beyond that, I'm not sure. Mayhaps it was for that bounty reward?”

 

“I don't think Talon is concerned about fundraising. Their actions lead me to believe they couldn’t care less about money. Maybe it was something more.”

 

“I suppose we won't rightly know unless we ask the Junkers. If they responded to Talon with violence, though, I think it's probably a touchy subject. We don't want them lashing out at us right now, so we should be careful.”

 

“I agree with you, Jesse. Maybe we should focus on building up trust and let them tell us when they're ready.”

 

“Well, I hope we figure it out soon, because if there's one thing Talon is, it's persistent. It worries me to think of what Talon is after with those folks.”

 

“Well, whatever it is, it's currently out of their reach. You did a good job today.”

 

“Thank you Winston - for hearing me out, as well.”

 

“Anytime. Now, I think it's about time we both got some rest.”

 

* * *

_\- Meanwhile at Talon HQ -_

* * *

 

 

“So the mission was a failure? No Rata or Puerco?” Sombra asked.

 

“Ugh, does it look like we have two filthy Australians in our possession?” Widowmaker retorted.

 

Across the room, Reaper lost his cool. “ **DAMNIT! WE ALMOST HAD THEM!** ” He grabbed the nearest chair and threw it at the opposite wall in his fit of rage. The chair broke in several places and left a dent in the wall.

 

“Reyes, darling, we’ll be getting nowhere if you keep going on like that.” Moira said. “Do I need to remind you that this isn't over yet?”

 

Reaper growled in frustration but seemed to calm down.

 

“Now, how about we come up with a new plan?” Moira continued. “That treasure of theirs isn't going to just land in our lap.”

 

“Do you have any ideas, _scientist?_ ” Widowmaker asked bitterly.

 

“As a matter of fact, I do have some ideas about this, but I'm going to need cooperation out of all of you. Can you all cooperate?”

 

“Sí.”

 

“Oui.”

 

“ **Fine.** ”

 

“Good. We begin planning in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Icy Touch](http://icy-touch-art.tumblr.com/) for providing the spark that set this fic in motion! This is inspired by a cyborg Junkrat design concept that she came up with.
> 
> Supporting influences include (but are not limited to): RoboCop, DC's Cyborg, Star Wars, Blade Runner, Shadowrun, and last but DEFINITELY not least, Cyberpunk.
> 
> The title is a reference to [Datastream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JaAclYdz9k&index=7&list=PLAn4WhSet7FeSwWsLlQZPt1q82QdpvPFv) by Scandroid.


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